Jocelyn measured the distance carefully. Maybe it was ten feet. It could have been five: she wouldn't know the difference until she hit the edge. Her lip curled a lip as she thought about her own inability to judge distances.
She took a moment to look up from the edge of the boat to attempt to assess the coming conflict. The noise of brawling rose above the shuffling of the crew. Behind her, they stood on the deck intent on the combatants at the entrance to the dock. There were no men in the rigging. No one checking the ties on the sails. All preparations to make the ship ready for the coming journey had ceased. The captain and first mate were still missing.
Jocelyn turned back to the divide, slightly oscillating before her. The distant conflict was outside of her view, and she had to get away. Even if the attackers were Waltzers. The idea of hitting Waltzers made her hungry, but she wasn't stupid. Well, not that stupid: now wasn't the time.
The sway of the deck underneath her was almost imperceptible. It was like being dizzy: The breakwater protected the moored ships from the stronger waves, but the movement was there, if minuscule.
Their ship was a massive schooner. Its movement was more rare, but more decided. When it shifted, it did so heavily and on a bell curve. Its neighbor was much smaller and more excited in its sways. Jocelyn attempted to size up the distance between them again. She would have to compensate for the drop as well as the distance. Maybe another ten feet.
The smaller boat was a wooden yacht in much worse repair than the schooner. If it was a Fleet vessel, it had been a long time since they found it useful. It swayed more violently in the sheltered tides of Lake Michigan. Jocelyn breathed out, then in.
Parker, stationed at a crouch behind a crate at Jocelyn's back began to say something as the hulking woman exhaled and leaned into her sprint forward. The deck pounded under her feet as she neared the jump. Jocelyn never let herself inhale. She didn't want to second guess the approaching drop off.
Her right toes curled into the edge of the ship, and she bent her knees. She stretched out her well-muscled arms as she grasshoppered off the side of the ship.
The space between vessels was less than she estimated, but the drop off wasn't. Jocelyn's head shifted uncomfortably as vertigo hit for a split second. Air time could not have been more than a couple seconds, but her reaching arms stretched impossibly in front of her, frozen. Then they touched down. Her fingers curled over the railing of the yacht.
Gravity set in, and the wood bit into her forearms. The weight of her body pulled at her shoulders. As usual, her upper body did not fail her. Her feet dangled helplessly. There was no way to get traction with the toes of her boots against the water-smoothed vessel.
A splinter bit into her left wrist. Jocelyn gritted her teeth. There was movement and hurried conversation on the deck behind her. She tensed her muscles.
After three attempts, her muscles accepted the weight, and Jocelyn was able to pull the top half of her body over the side rail of the yacht. It was a short fall onto the deck. Jocelyn groaned.
Then she heard a voice,
"Jocelyn!"
It was Parker. She grunted from her prone position on the deck.
"Jocelyn! Where'd you go? The schooner's leaving!"
She took a moment to look up from the edge of the boat to attempt to assess the coming conflict. The noise of brawling rose above the shuffling of the crew. Behind her, they stood on the deck intent on the combatants at the entrance to the dock. There were no men in the rigging. No one checking the ties on the sails. All preparations to make the ship ready for the coming journey had ceased. The captain and first mate were still missing.
Jocelyn turned back to the divide, slightly oscillating before her. The distant conflict was outside of her view, and she had to get away. Even if the attackers were Waltzers. The idea of hitting Waltzers made her hungry, but she wasn't stupid. Well, not that stupid: now wasn't the time.
The sway of the deck underneath her was almost imperceptible. It was like being dizzy: The breakwater protected the moored ships from the stronger waves, but the movement was there, if minuscule.
The smaller boat was a wooden yacht in much worse repair than the schooner. If it was a Fleet vessel, it had been a long time since they found it useful. It swayed more violently in the sheltered tides of Lake Michigan. Jocelyn breathed out, then in.
Parker, stationed at a crouch behind a crate at Jocelyn's back began to say something as the hulking woman exhaled and leaned into her sprint forward. The deck pounded under her feet as she neared the jump. Jocelyn never let herself inhale. She didn't want to second guess the approaching drop off.
Her right toes curled into the edge of the ship, and she bent her knees. She stretched out her well-muscled arms as she grasshoppered off the side of the ship.
The space between vessels was less than she estimated, but the drop off wasn't. Jocelyn's head shifted uncomfortably as vertigo hit for a split second. Air time could not have been more than a couple seconds, but her reaching arms stretched impossibly in front of her, frozen. Then they touched down. Her fingers curled over the railing of the yacht.
Gravity set in, and the wood bit into her forearms. The weight of her body pulled at her shoulders. As usual, her upper body did not fail her. Her feet dangled helplessly. There was no way to get traction with the toes of her boots against the water-smoothed vessel.
A splinter bit into her left wrist. Jocelyn gritted her teeth. There was movement and hurried conversation on the deck behind her. She tensed her muscles.
After three attempts, her muscles accepted the weight, and Jocelyn was able to pull the top half of her body over the side rail of the yacht. It was a short fall onto the deck. Jocelyn groaned.
Then she heard a voice,
"Jocelyn!"
It was Parker. She grunted from her prone position on the deck.
"Jocelyn! Where'd you go? The schooner's leaving!"